Natural Elimination
by IcamaneHatake
Summary: The 42nd Annual Hunger Games. It's an unusual pick this year with lots of young kids, trained killers, and some disabled teenagers. Vriska Serket is in it to win it; Karkat Vantas is in it to survive. Children will fight for their lives, dreams will be shattered, and bonds created and broken. But only one Tribute comes out alive. Sadstuck. Originally posted on AO3.


"Karkat, come on! We can't be late!"

"Calm the fuck down, Featherbrain, I'm almost fucking ready."

Karkat grumbles as he finishes buttoning his only kind-of clean shirt. But it's no-so-clean now, as he… forgot to wash his hands. Fuck. As usual. He fumbles around the small kitchen-slash-dining room of his house, hoping to find a forgotten bar of soap under some dirty dishes.

"_Karkat!_"

"I'm _coming!_" he yells, abandoning his search and sending dirty, rusting pots crashing to the floor. Grumbling about his shit luck, Karkat stomps over and flings his door open. Jade stands there, her glasses polished, wearing her nicest dress, her long black hair combed and pulled back. "Fuck, can't I get two seconds to put on my shitty ass clothes?"

Jade sighs. "Really? That's your clean shirt?"

"What?" Karkat is slightly offended. It's not _that_ bad.

"Coal Muncher," she mutters, turning away. "Let's go. The reaping is going to start soon."

"Just because I work in a fucking _hole_ from sun up to sundown—"

"—And don't shower," she interjects.

Karkat is speechless. Then he runs his hand through his gritty hair, pulls it away, and finds it covered in black again.

Motherfucking coal dust.

He slams the cracking wooden door behind him, not bothering to lock it.

* * *

Vagabond's hand is overly sweaty. It's far too hot, the sun burning the back of his neck. Beads of moisture drip down his skin, his body desperate to cool down.

"Are you doing okay?"

He looks up at Aradia, shielding his eyes. Her tan face doesn't have a drop of sweat on in, her hair tucked neatly up into her wide brimmed hat. Vagabond doesn't know how she does it, being perfect through all the hard labor and heat and sweat and blood. But he thinks about the question for a moment, and he doesn't know how he feels yet, other than over-heated, so he shrugs.

"The first reaping is always the worst," Aradia continued, glancing down at his unsure face. "But I think… as you get older, it gets a little easier to accept."

He wasn't sure about that either, but if Aradia said so, then it's probably true. Older sisters are always right, isn't that what they say? And since Aradia is the closet thing he has to that, he believes in every word she says.

* * *

Dave adjusts the suit jacket to fit his frame better. His brother is still a bit taller, a bit lengthier than himself, and he's had to compensate. But it's fine. He still looks pretty cool. His light blonde hair is perfectly combed over his forehead and to the side, his glasses are shiny, and the scarlet suit with their family symbol on the lapel only intensifies the red of his eyes.

A single knock on his bedroom door. Time to go. Dave pushes up his sunglasses with two fingers, straightens the jacket once more, and exits his spacious room. He and his Bro don't need to say anything as they walk through the grey and tan brick city towards the reaping space. Dave doesn't know which he would prefer – not getting picked and never living up to Bro's legend, the Strider legend, or going in and not coming out again. Each he finds to be a terrible possibility.

No, he can't think like that.

He is going to win the Forty-Second Hunger Games.

* * *

Roxy is pretty sure District One is picking their tributes right now.

Then again, the sky is turning purple and everything is slowly revolving on the spot, so how should she know what's going on. The whispering around her is turning into a washing sound; the people shifting are all blending together, making the sea of people even more like the ocean and less like humans. This courtyard is cramped and sweaty and stinking, the people around her smelling more like the animals that they tend to than themselves.

Another reaping.

Another ripping of family.

Another rampage of the emotions of humans.

She just wants this to be over so she can go back to her house and finish the second bottle of wine.

* * *

It's finally time. District One always takes so long to pick their tributes.

But now it's time for Eridan to shine.

He's been waiting for years. Training, pushing himself, perfecting his killing art. And every year, he had failed to been chosen. But this year, he had a plan.

"Our lucky female Tribute will be… Winda Quinnell!"

There's a roar of applause and Quinnell takes the stage. Tall, lean, beautiful, perfect facial structure, and long white blonde hair. Her face is blank, her eyes lazily watching the grand crowd before her in the courtyard of off-white stone. Eridan smirks while he claps. Quinnell will be a great representative for District Two. Next to himself, of course.

"And our male tribute—"

"I WOLUNTEER!"

Everyone in the crowd turns to look at Eridan, and he swells with excitement. Now is the moment. He's been preparing this all morning.

"I, Eridan Ampora, pride of District Two, wolunteer as Tribute!"

The applause starts small, but grows steadily as Eridan makes his way to the front, a grin on his face, not even caring that his prized purple cape is getting trod on a little by the crowd as they part for him.

Now was the time. The time for Eridan Ampora to take the stage, the fully embrace the limelight.

* * *

Rose has never found a reaping so amusing before. Sure, it's painful and boring, standing around and watching other reapings, but this year the higher careers are especial clowns. The girl from One actually looks timid. The male in Two just completely made an imbecile out of himself. Even District Three looked like a pair of fools this year.

"Rose Lalonde."

Rose opens her eyes. People around her whisper behind their hands as she takes measured steps to the front. It doesn't bother her. A second generation Tribute is always exciting, and she doesn't blame them – it _is_ rather exciting.

As she takes the stage, she catches her mom nodding at her out of the corner of her eye. She knows immediately what it means.

_Give them a good show._

* * *

'_Come on, come on!_'

"The female tribute for District Five…"

_'Pick me, pick me!_'

"Vriska Serket!"

"Yes!"

Vriska can't help herself from calling out – she had been so let down when she wasn't picked last year, her first reaping year. The girl last year didn't even make it past day two. Vriska was going to show everyone this year what she could do, what she was actually capable of. She stands on the stage, grinning into the clouds above the crowd.

"The male tribute for District Five… Dave Strider!"

Vriska frowns when the crowd cheers harder for him than they had for her. Didn't they realize she would win? Sure, Strider was pretty cool, but he has _nothing_ on her. Vriska is like, on a different level than him. A level way higher than him.

"Serket," Dave greets her, nodding once.

"Strider," she replies, pushing her glasses up her nose as she smirks.

They really don't need to say anything else.

They both know they're going for blood.

* * *

The anticipation is practically killing Roxy. She's already been picked, she's stumbled her ass up here, so what are they waiting for? Pick the damn boy already, this sun is giving her a huge, stupid migraine.

Finally, the dumb broad picking names finds a slip of paper she deems acceptable.

"Tavros Nitram!"

'_Oh no. Of course. Of-fucking-course.'_

The crowd goes completely silent, awkwardly shuffling around. Roxy knows they are thinking the exact same thing as her.

Then there's a rhythm – shuffletap, shuffletap. The crowd parts and Roxy can make out the kid who is slowly approaching the stage. His feet – or really, just the shoes – drag behind his canes as he walks himself through the dirt. It's not until he mounts the stage that Roxy can see he's completely and absolutely terrified.

'_And he has a right to be, poor kid,_' Roxy thinks. _'If I had fake legs, I certainly would be_.'

* * *

"It's going to be alright."

Aradia is reassuring Vagabond as they are escorted into the closest thing District Eleven has to a justice building. Aradia's hand clasps his tight, not allowing them to be separated again.

She can't imagine what he must have felt when his name was called, or even when her name had been called and she left him alone in the crowd.

"We'll be fine. I'll protect you."

A pair of orphans. A pair of friends.

A family.

Aradia is not going to let the Capital rip them apart.

* * *

"Shitsponge."

Jade nudges Karkat in the ribs, but he knows she is thinking something along the same lines.

And how can they not. The Capitol has somehow managed to pick a good number of younger kids this year – _crippled _kids.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it is finally time to choose the lucky young man and woman who will represent District Twelve in the Forty-Second Hunger Games!" This guy is far too chipper for this silent crowd. "Ladies first!"

Karkat feels Jade brushes against him briefly as the slip of paper is chosen. Karkat's stomach knots with nerves. '_Please don't be us, please don't—'_

"Jade Harley!"

"Well, fuck me sideways." Karkat's voice is hollow. This is too close to home. He and Jade may not be particularly _close_, but… well, she's the closest thing to a friend he's ever had.

Jade holds her head high as she walks to the stage, trying to keep her game face on. She stands there and looks over the grim crowd, her eyes dark and cold. The sparse applause dies almost immediately.

"Now for our young man."

Karkat doesn't register that his name is called at first. He just stands there, numb, until he hears the man on stage practically screaming.

"Karkat Vantas!"

There's a sharp jab in his back by someone's elbow. He stumbles forward, his heart pounding in his chest. He flexes his hands as he works through the crowd, trying to get blood to rush to them again. His everything is numb as he climbs the stairs at an agonizingly slow pace. The moment his leading foot touches the surface of the stage, he is yanked to Jade's side.

"Well, there you have it! The lucky young Tributes for District Twelve!" The man looks around, expecting applause. When he doesn't get it, he presses on. "Well, Karkat and Jade, you will represent your District well, and may the odds be ever in your favor!"


End file.
